


Learning to Dance

by Syllis



Series: Underpinnings [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Frottage, Lapdance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22503274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis
Relationships: Marcus/Savos, Savos Aren/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Underpinnings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1503053
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

“Keep your eyes up enough that the top of your head is level. Don’t crane your neck when you look up.” Savos Aren took Marcus’ elbow and walked along with him, demonstrating. “Don’t take steps that disturb the line of the skirt. Push your feet well forward with each step. Glide.”

Marcus followed along, careful not to dislodge the slippers from his feet. He was in chemise and corset and all of those petticoats and things. Thankfully it was still cool for late morning. “This is kind of a lot to keep track of.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Savos smiled. “It’s the distilled result of several eras of particularly savage gate-keeping.” He smiled. “But unlike everyone else, you do not have to worry about any ruination of your social prospects. We just need for you to do well enough to survive that first glance. I have a number of explanations prepared for any mishaps.” His lips drew back further. “One advantage that you will have is that, after the debacle of last year--”

Marcus winced along with him; Savos had told him what had happened and it had been awful.

“Everybody will be watching me, at first. Quite avidly, I fear. So no eyes will be on you.” Savos leaned down to grant Marcus his reward. It was one of those social kisses; not a real kiss. The Arch-Mage’s lips brushed Marcus’ face just shy of his mouth, sparing them both the indignity of lip rouge transfer. Not that Marcus was wearing any, at present. Practice. 

“How much more today?” Marcus wanted to know.

“Oh, not much. Final fitting on the more casual garments, and I think Endarie wanted to take another look at that collar of mine.” Savos shrugged. “After that, who knows. You’re doing very well on conforming your speech patterns, so maybe just a little more vocabulary review?”

“I can talk like those elves do if that’s what you want,” Marcus put in. “And that’s what I mean by kind of a lot. Isn’t all this stuff expensive?”

“Let’s review: What is the most essential part of the process in eliciting large gifts?” When Marcus started to speak, Savos lifted a finger. “Just like one of those snotty Altmer, if you please.”

Marcus lifted his nose in the air and said: “Conforming one’s appearance to such a standard that it appears as if one would never be in need of any such largesse?” Marcus smiled back as the Arch-Mage beamed at him, pleased. “I thought you said you came from a poor--”

Savos’ brow rose. 

“Family of lesser circumstances,” Marcus finished, correcting himself. “How exactly do you have the money for all of this--” he gestured at his shoes, his petticoats-- “Stuff?”

Savos coughed: “How is it that you seem to have overcome this adversity?” He overlooked Marcus’ eye-rolling and went on: “One never directly references money or income.” His fingers reached to adjust a lock of Marcus’ hair and traced along his cheek. “Any such discussion is couched in circumlocutions and euphemisms--” He cupped Marcus’ chin in his hand. “Every culture has its own cant.”

“But how did you do it?” Marcus wondered. His eyelids had fluttered closed, almost without his will. “Make yourself all this money. I’ve always wondered.”

“Secret and near-instantaneous courier service? Quite lucrative.” Savos paused in what he was doing and glanced aside. “Oh, it’s past ten. Endarie won’t like it if we’re a little late.”

So maybe we should be a lot late?” Marcus put his hand over Savos’, holding it in place.

Savos smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Savos re-settled himself on the chair. “Right here on my lap like this?-- oh!”

Marcus straddled Savos’ lap, tugging the petticoat skirts out from between them. He wrapped his legs around the back of the chair and hooked his foot beneath to pull himself even closer, levering his hips down, hard. A little puff of breath escaped Savos’ lips, a bare finger-width from Marcus’ own. This close, Marcus could see the Arch-Mage’s pupils dilate, as Marcus began to move.

“I told you I could dance a little.” Marcus murmured, letting his lips separate into an expression he hadn’t had to wear for awhile; the pay-me smile. Savos’ breath was coming short as Marcus rolled his hips, the delicate friction of those fine wool pants moving exquisitely against Marcus’ bare skin. “Also I told you I didn’t like those smallclothes, so I didn’t-- hey! No touching.”

Savos gulped. Helpless in indecision, he moved his hands about before he settled them to each side of the rigid block of Marcus’ corset. His body was not so unsure; his length grown hard and thick, his pelvis jerking upwards into the contact. That expensive wool was getting damp. Cat-like, Marcus stretched to rub his entire body against Savos’ and then settled down, his hips spiraling back to the same nagging pattern.

Savos’ body jerked suddenly, but he put his hands back where they had been. “Better,” whispered Marcus, and Savos nodded appreciation at his approval, and gasped, as Marcus rocked down, hard. “Want?”

Savos nodded, his movements gone almost convulsive. His hair had come down from its clasp and was stringing across his cheek. 

Marcus leaned forward and licked along the long ridge of that Dunmer ear. “In your clothes, you want?” he crooned, and when Savos groaned long and low, “Touch me now.” When those long-fingered hands grabbed his ass and yanked Marcus downward, he groaned as well; and they began to buck against each other in earnest. Marcus sucked at that ear for all he was worth.

Marcus wasn’t used to doing this with so much fabric in the way. Stupid petticoats. He got more of the linen out of the way with one hand, his mouth still working as saliva dripped from his chin, till Savos finally broke with a soft whimper, pulsing in a long wave beneath Marcus. It grew damper between them, Savos’ movements slowing as he came down from that high. Marcus whispered to him and cradled his head, stroking his hair back into place and kissing his forehead.

“I’m glad I’m going with you to Wayrest,” Marcus said, pressing another kiss between Savos’ brows. “I really didn’t want to be away from you for so long.”

Savos’ hands finally let go and came up to skim Marcus’ shoulders. “I didn’t either.” He squeezed gently at the nape of Marcus’ neck, till he could capture Marcus’ mouth. The kiss deepened, until Marcus shifted his weight.

“Now what? Another bath and then go apologize to Endarie?”

“Mmm. I’ll send a note over to reschedule. When there’s no explanation that will serve, don’t give one.” Savos patted Marcus’ thigh, and Marcus stood, as an afterthought steadying Savos as he got up from the chair. They stood for long moments just holding each other, until Savos slipped his hand down to grip Marcus by the most logical handle.

“Hey,” said Marcus.

“I think we’re going to need to spend tomorrow sorting out this smallclothes issue.” Savos let him go. “Unless you want to wander about at this event pointing the way.”

“Hahaha. I didn’t like anything Taarie showed me. All lace everywhere. Scratchy. And it gets me all…” Marcus writhed in demonstration and hopped in place. “Confined. Like really squashing my balls. Is there any polite way to say that?”

The Arch-Mage frowned. “No.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

Savos pulled the front of his pants away from himself and regarded the wet splotches, ruefully. “We’ll put these in with the laundry and run the bath again whilst you explain to me how you managed to get away with wearing women’s clothing for so long without the least bit of understanding in regards to lingerie.”

Marcus huffed. "Maybe. If you explain to me how you got so old without ever getting a lapdance."


	3. Chapter 3

“I didn’t think we were gonna have to portal back to Blacklight,” said Marcus, a bit nervous. He had the corset and petticoats and things tucked into his satchel.

Savos said: “Don’t worry so much about the legalities, dear one; as far as the rest of the world believes, we’re still in Solitude enjoying a luxurious supper in bed. “After you.” He opened the door, and Marcus stepped into the shop.

"I'm still embarrassed," Marcus muttered. 

"So embarrassed that you're willing to put up with having your balls squashed? No?" Savos was amused. "Morven's the one to consult on this. And this'll go better than your first time here, I don't imagine you'll get as overwhelmed."

\--

“Woah,” Marcus had said, his gaze fixed upon an object mounted on the far wall. Was it for orcs? Trolls? Giants? It looked like an entire horker tusk. Marcus'd thought his eyes might get stuck, they were crossing so hard. “People actually manage to, ah, use that thing?” 

“This isn’t a museum,” snapped the Dunmer behind the counter. “Did you come to gawp or did you bring some coin?”

Savos coughed. “The back fitting room, if you please, Morven.”

“Oh! Your pardon, Arch-Mage. I didn’t see it was you.” The proprietor bustled from behind the counter to usher the two of them back into a plush-curtained sitting room, and began to light its lamps with a nervous little flicker of magicka.

“We need to have a private discussion with the books, and then we’ll call for you.” Savos was as grave as if he were about to conduct some important business dealing; and Morven did no more than nod as he exited back to his counter.

Savos sank onto the couch and sighed in contentment, as though he had spent quite some time in this room. Marcus took the time to look around. He thought the wallpaper was interesting. What were those dancers doing? He went to investigate, tracing the shapes out. Savos was watching him with fond affection.

“I love taking you places.” The Arch-Mage cleared his throat. “Now we were talking the other day about how you felt like you might want a distraction from your surroundings while at this event. We are presented with a number of choices, so I thought we ought to experiment a bit before making a decision.” Savos flipped open a few pages. “Here’s an idea, and it wouldn’t take a great deal to set up.”

Marcus said: “Wait a minute, isn’t the knot on that rope in a really tender spot?” The Dunmer in the image was trussed up enough to look like a caterpillar, but the rope itself did not appear to restrict limbs in any way. The second picture, with the splayed thighs, demonstrated exactly where that crotch-rope would run.

“Yes,” said Savos. “It’s called stroking the rosebud, by the way.”.

Marcus winced. “Wouldn’t it kind of scrape a bit?”

Savos shrugged. “Not so much. It kind of presses there, yes.”

Marcus winced again. “Really?”

“That would be the point of the exercise, yes.”

“Ow,” Marcus said. “No thanks.” He waved off further explanation. “What else were you thinking?”

“Oh, not that,” said Savos.

“Wait. What IS that?” Marcus studied the page. Whatever-it-was happened to be inset with various stones, and seemed disturbingly knobby.

Savos Aren sighed. “Bedroom yam. A bit, hmm, old-school for us. More of a thing for the ladies.” He turned another page. “Well,” said Savos. “This next piece would be the most expensive variation, as everything would have to be custom-made. And on a rush order, too. But I did want to at least show you…”

Marcus began to feel a bit faint. “Is that… is that a lock?! Like you can’t just… take that thing off? Oh hell no, I don’t want it anywhere near me!!” His voice was rising.

“No cage then,” said Savos, turning over the page immediately.

Marcus hitched a bit closer to him on the couch. “So does this thing we’re gonna do… does it have to hurt?” he asked, plaintive.

Savos took both of his hands. “Not at all.” He glanced up at the silent shop-keeper, who had come in to assure himself that nothing was amiss. “Give us a few minutes please, if you would.”

Marcus immediately climbed up onto his lap and buried his face in his neck. Savos petted him and tugged at his braid. “Bad?” he asked, softly.

“Yeah. Gimme a minute.”

Savos whispered to him for a few moments, until Marcus shifted. “Guess we’d better look at some more stuff,” he said. “We don’t want that friend of yours out there mad at us.” Savos kissed along his hairline to soothe him. “We can take a few more minutes.”

“Mm." Marcus pulled the book up into his lap. “Oh, hey, I at least recognize this.”

“Really? Where at?”

Marcus shifted around. Savos got upset if Marcus talked about certain things. “Maybe I better not say.” He traced its outlines on the page. “So what happens if I sneeze or cough or something?”

Savos smiled. “Oh, it’ll stay put. You’d have to work pretty hard to get rid of it.”

\--

"I was hoping to get back to the Skeever for dinner," Marcus said. "They're serving roast lamb."

“Oh, absolutely. Turn and let me see.” Savos moved his hand to the little bell. "I think you're laced up far enough for the fitting," he said. "Morven's going to have to make these smallclothes to order, to fit under it. And, well, accomodate everything else. Do we still have those swatches? And you said you wanted silk?"

\--

“There we are,” said Savos, approvingly. “That’s the whole kit. Think you can walk fully rigged?”

Marcus was feeling a little dazed. He nodded. When he took Savos’ arm, things shifted around inside himself, and the smallclothes pressed against him, as tight as an embrace. But Savos had been right; with all this, there was absolutely, positively no way that Marcus would notice anything going on around him, much less anyone looking at him. Marcus could think about nothing but getting Savos alone and riding his cock as fiercely as he’d be allowed; he-- 

Marcus gave a soft whimper.

“Try not to think about it too much,” Savos whispered. “This is just a trial run. The banquet will last for five hours.”

Marcus made another small noise.

“Introductory speeches; the banquet itself with after-dinner speeches and a panel discussion-- I have the first and third; and then they’ll clear things up for the dancing; and then dessert. Oh and more speeches. And there are some donors I’ll need to speak to--”

“Okay,” said Marcus, squirming. “Fine. I get it. Can we portal back now? Like, right now? Or… would they get mad if we borrowed that couch?”

“Oh my, no,” said Savos, amused. “We’ve got a couple other stops to make, first.” He leaned in. “Better stop wriggling,” he advised. “And I am sorry about missing out on the roast lamb, but we’re going to have to eat dinner out here.”

"I have to try to eat like this!?" A fine mist of sweat had already risen up along Marcus' back. He shuddered, squeezing his thighs together just a little too late as the movement sent him into more hellish roiling waves of pleasure. He took a breath and held it, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth to will back those warning little clenches.

"Keep it together," Savos Aren advised, against Marcus' lips, as though he could feel Marcus' internal pitch boiling up towards a kettle-scream. "Hmmm," he murmured, taking Marcus' lip between his own. "How far is this going to take you?"

Marcus gripped onto Savos' fine-boned shoulders, panting, unable to answer.

A soft knock at the door.

"Ah," said the Arch-Mage. "Morven must be needing the room again." He stepped back, offering Marcus his arm. "Lean on me if you need to," said Savos Aren, urging him along. Marcus found himself taking small, uncertain steps. "Let's move a little faster, if you can. The restaurant is about seven blocks."

“Hhhnnngh.” Marcus took small, delicate, steps towards the door, holding onto Savos’ arm. “Nothing’s gonna help, is it?”

“You did say you wanted a fairly compelling distraction,” Savos reminded him. “And no, we’re not going into that filthy alley. Chin up. Don’t hunch your shoulders like that.” He leaned closer. “If it’s not enough we could have it smeared with ginger paste.” 

Marcus whimpered.


End file.
